A Sign of Weakness
by rufeepeach
Summary: The Queen comes to take Belle from her father's home, and her bravery finally cracks.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Tumblr prompt from ifyousaysodearie: 'His hoary hand gripped her' - not sure if this is what they had in mind, but this is what came out.

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><p>Ever since she was captured and dragged as a captive before her own father.<p>

She'd left this place a hero in a golden ball-gown; she returned in a dirty, ragged blue dress, a broken-hearted prisoner in her family home.

She struggled with the manacles around her wrists: they were heavy, and chafed her skin leaving red, sore rings that never healed. The motion hurt too much to continue, the chains swung and slapped against bruised, mottled purple and pale pink skin.

The clerics were all too vigilant in their work.

She'd never spoken his name: they took this as a sign of her weakness. They taunted her, beat her until she couldn't see beyond the pain in her limbs, and yet they couldn't break that one, final wall.

She didn't think of him.

Not even on the worst days, when it rained and even the sunlight couldn't brighten her new prison cell. She refused to indulge in thoughts of him. Of his bright, delighted grin; his glittering gold-grey skin; the memory of every innocuous word he ever said to her, stored carefully away like precious stones in the back of her mind.

(_Some said that just to say his name aloud was to summon him; she was the one woman who could be certain he'd never answer_)

But other days, they didn't come. She was allowed to sit on the stripped mattress of her bed, and stare at the shelves that once held her books; the cabinets now empty of her childhood toys and trinkets.

Some days she dreamed of escape. Of jumping from the high tower, knowing as she did that no impact with the cold, hard Earth could be worse than the clerics' own devices.

But her chains weighed her down. As did the heart she'd given away, and the pride she still felt in her own spine, in the dark recesses of her mind where she was still allowed free reign.

It was sunny today, and she tortured herself: she stared out of the window.

She could swear she could see his face in the woodlands in the distance, smirking at her.

When they threw the door open, she didn't move. Her face went blank, cold, and emotionless: maybe, if they thought her mad or dumb, then they would treat her kindly. Maybe they'd believe her finally broken, and leave her to rot in peace. Then she'd let the memories come. Then she'd let him out of his box, and they'd run the halls of her shattered mind together.

But Belle wasn't insane, no matter how blissful such a state sounded in her darkest moments.

There was no kindness on her father's face when he came for her. His hoary hand grabbed her arm, hauling her to stand in the centre of the room. She wanted to scream, and fight, to claw her way to freedom and curse his name.

(_To plead and beg the last love she had left to let her keep breathing_)

A woman, _the_ woman, the _Queen_, appeared in the doorway. Her father's hand clamped around Belle's forearm; his fingertips dug into her skin hard enough to leave a bruise.

"Ah," she said, her voice like silk and honey, as she sidled closer, "Yes, it's as bad as you said." She lifted Belle's chin, and to anyone else it could look gentle and motherly. But her fingernails were claws, biting into Belle's skin, and there was no tenderness in her gaze. "Remember me, princess?" she asked, just loud enough for Belle to hear.

Screw passivity.

"Yes." Belle ground out through gritted teeth, her face twisted into the ugliest glare she could manage.

The Queen just chuckled, pleased with her hatred, and straightened. "She has been corrupted: she is the demon's whore now, no longer your daughter."

"What can I do?" Belle is disgusted by the pleading, pathetic whine of her father's voice. To think this man was once everything.

"Leave her to me." The Queen smiled, and it was like the end of the world, "I'll see to it that she is _purified_."

That last word reverberated around Belle's skull.

As the Queen's hand grasped her own (_cold and hard, almost skeletal, like holding the hand of a statue_), she felt the world fall apart as magic took hold.

When they landed, beside the Queen's carriage at the gates, terror overcame Belle for the first time in her life. She screamed, long and loud and as hard as she could, "_Rumpelstiltskin_!"

(_Because, sometimes, the rumours are true_)

The Queen just laughed, and hauled her into the carriage.

Her smile fell from her face when she saw the man sitting there, legs crossed and smile wide, even as his eyes blazed.

"Going somewhere, dearie?"

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><p>AN2:This had a miserable ending... then I got my offer from the University of Edinburgh (and the squeals of joy were heard for miles around) and suddenly happy words started coming. So thank them for the lack of unremitting misery and hopelessness.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Every review seems to have been a plea for this to continue: so it has. Never let it be said that I don't bow to peer pressure. This might have one or two more chapters, especially since I seem to be writing near-constantly these days.

Anyway: read, enjoy, and please review!

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><p>The Queen's grip on Belle's arm slackened somewhat, but no one moved.<p>

Belle was certain she was dead.

She had to be: how else could she come to be trapped between two distinctly different nightmares, with no place to run?

The Queen had killed her, and now she was floating in some kind of hellish limbo.

Rumpelstiltskin's smile was murderous. She hoped it wasn't for her.

Then his eyes flicked to hers, and they met in the middle for just a moment. His face softened almost imperceptibly, the rage in his eyes lost in something warmer, something so deeply sad that, for just a moment, her concern for her life was overtaken by pain for him.

But she was only here because of him; because he was an idiot, and a monster, and had abandoned her to her fate because of his own blind, stupid fear.

To hell sympathy: she was angry.

"Get out of my carriage, Rumpel," The Queen had recovered her voice, and it was low and dangerous, "You'll get glitter on my upholstery."

"Get your hands off my housekeeper, and we'll see." His teeth were bared in an approximation of a smile, and it was the most terrifying thing Belle had ever seen.

"Yours?" The Queen laughed, "You threw her out: she's no more bound to you than anyone."

Rumpelstiltskin raised his hands, palms flat. A blast of pure energy rippled through the air, throwing both women backward onto the forest floor.

He was in front of Belle in a second, hauling her to her feet and throwing her behind him. The rough motion hurt her aching limbs, and she moaned and winced in pain. Her leg screamed in pain, the joint unused to standing, let alone running.

She saw his first real glance at her, the first time he got a real look at the state of her body. She wrapped her arms around herself, hoping in vain to hide her bruises and scars, the burns from the cleric's torches and long, thin gashes from their knives, from his all-seeing eyes. She could have sworn, in the moment before he turned back to the Queen, that she saw pain, even guilt, in those opaque eyes of his.

But then he was in front of her, shielding her from the woman before them, and his manic, dangerous smile was firmly back in place.

"She's mine, Rumpel." The Queen snarled, "I bargained for her just minutes ago. Hand her back, or pay the price."

"She's not going with you." Rumpelstiltskin's voice was lower than usual, his usual high-pitched tone dampened by rage, "Our deal still stands."

"Until the castle is destroyed, and the people within perish," The Queen's eyes narrowed, her bloody smile wide and chilling, "And then it's nullified."

"No!" Belle had had enough: she still wasn't sure if she was breathing, but she knew she could still scream, and push her protector aside to stand in the centre. This was something she could do, and she was damn well going to do it. "Our bargain is over, _Rumpelstiltskin_, you made that clear. Destroying my family will do nothing to change anything."

"Belle-" He looked stricken, horrified, and she wanted so badly to send him a reassuring glance, to tell him she was still his and still alive, and it would all be okay.

But how could she, when she knew none of that herself?

She turned to the Queen on shaking legs, and looked her full in the eyes (_who could harm a dead girl?_) "This castle means nothing."

"This castle is _home_," The Queen's eyes were bright, "That always means something." She looked past Belle, right at Rumpelstiltskin, and her tone was almost deferential, almost kind, "Unless you'd care to deal? Her life for something else? Yours, perhaps?"

Something in that shook Belle out of her numbness: _her life?_

There was still a life to bargain for?

Then that life was _hers_, and she'd had enough of bartering for it.

"If you wish to deal," every tortured, exhausted muscle screamed in pain with every second she stood. All Belle wanted was to sleep, to be left alone while the world spun without her, but that wasn't how this worked. "Then you deal with me."

She had been a hero once, and no amount of agony or fear was going to rip that from her.

"I don't make deals with powerless children," the Queen said.

"She's not powerless," Rumpelstiltskin was smiling, and it was brighter than before, "I'd leave now, if I were you." He came to stand beside her, and took her hand.

Belle didn't want him anywhere near her. She was broken, bruised in a thousand different ways, but the wounds left over from their last meeting were by far the worst. And yet, in this moment, they were on the same side. They faced a foe who hated them both, and that alone was a powerful thing.

The Queen's smile was static, but her eyes gleamed. Belle shivered.

Then, with a little shrug, the Queen sidled past them, toward her carriage, "Fine, have it your way. Rip yourselves apart, save me the bother."

The carriage vanished down the road, and they were alone.

Belle broke their contact, and started to walk away.

Then she stumbled, her legs giving out beneath her, and fell to the ground. Her muscles were heavy, leaden, and refused to move another inch.

She was alive, strangely enough, but still helpless.

Belle hated to be helpless.

Wordlessly, Rumpelstiltskin hauled her up into his arms, and there was that rushing feeling, nausea rushing through her, as magic whisked them away. They landed in her old bedroom, the one she'd claimed when she was still his housekeeper, the one still filled with all of her things, every gift he'd ever given her.

She wanted to smash them all to pieces, and throw them at his feet. But she was weak, and exhausted, and reliant upon his support to keep from falling.

He set her down on her feet, but held on to her as he helped her into bed.

"Belle, I-"

"Please," another rush of fatigue clouded her brain, and she felt sleep beckoning, "Don't apologise. It won't help."

He nodded, and there was that look again. The one that was shutdown, and guilty, and heartbreakingly sad all at once, that made her want to hold him and stroke his hair, to smile and make it all better. She felt her heart squeeze as she watched him leave, and she was left alone in the quietest, warmest, safest darkness she'd seen in months.

True love hurt more than all the bruises put together.


	3. Chapter 3

She knew he wasn't leaving.

It was almost funny, this change in his character. Before, she'd been the one trying to seek him out while he hid in his tower or ran off adventuring, leaving her to keep one eye on the horizon, waiting for him to return. Now, she wandered the castle on good days, stayed exhausted in bed or in the library on bad ones, and he seemed to be everywhere, although he was nowhere to be seen.

_Seen_ being the operative word.

Before, she'd had to work hard just to spend five minutes with him. Now, no matter where she was, she could feel him watching her, hovering nearby, waiting for her to need him. Waiting for her to give in and invite him inside, out of the cold and back into her heart.

He could take his guilt and put it where the sun didn't shine. He deserved it, and she wasn't going to absolve him.

Even if she did find some comfort in knowing he was there.

Even if she did love him, with everything she was, no matter how badly he hurt her.

Finally, a week into their uneasy coexistence, she broke the spell: "You can come inside, you know." She said it out loud, talking to what appeared to be thin air, knowing he was just around the corner in the stacks, watching her.

No reply. She sighed, exhausted as always, "It's okay. I'm not strong enough yet to throw my book at you."

There was a moment's pause, and then his head appeared around the bookshelf, an almost comically childish look of trepidation on his features. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She went back to her book, but the words didn't make sense. She was too busy watching him out of the corner of her eye, as he took a tentative seat on the armchair beside her.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked. No 'dearie's attached: he was serious.

She slumped back on the chair, and let the plush back support her neck and head, "Tired. The stiffness is fading, though: I came down the stairs today and didn't wince."

"That's… good." He didn't know how to break the wall between them, and neither did she. She liked watching him off-balance, unsure of himself. She liked watching him not know how to make something the way he wanted it to be; she liked watching him deal with the consequences of his actions.

"I need to…" she didn't want to say this, but she had to. They had to talk about this, and he wasn't going to bring it up, "I need to thank you. For coming when I called."

He was completely thrown by that, and a vicious little thrill of triumph ran down Belle's spine, "I – well… you're welcome, Belle."

"Even if it was your fault that I needed to in the first place." She turned back to her book, leaving him to continue the conversation: let him do some of the work, for once.

"Belle, I would apologise for that if you'd only let me."

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised, eyes challenging, "Fine. Give it your best shot, let's hear it."

"I shouldn't have cast you out... and I certainly shouldn't have accused you of being a spy for the Queen. It was unjust, and I apologise wholeheartedly."

"Okay, that covers… about one third of it." She nodded, and allowed a small smile to slip through, "Well done."

"What else is there?" he had a slightly annoyed, slightly frustrated edge to his voice that angered Belle: he wasn't allowed to feel anything but guilt for his crimes, and gratitude for the fact that she was alive, in his home, and speaking to him all at once.

"When did you realise that I wasn't a traitor?" she asked, knowing the question was cruel but needing an answer, "Before or after you saw what she did to me?"

"The moment you left the castle." He replied, and she was impressed. She knew him, better than she knew anyone else in the world: he didn't lie. When a statement was that straightforward, that plainly spoken, then he was telling the truth. "A true traitor would have done all she could to stay: you walked out with your head held high."

"And you didn't come after me?"

"Why would I? You were going home, Belle, to your life and friends and _family_. I supposed you were better off free from our bargain, and forgetting me. How could I have known what they would do to you?"

She thought that through, turned it over in her head, looking for hidden meanings and subtle tricks. She found none, and her smile came back.

It was slow, and tired, and brief, but real.

He smiled back, and Gods, how she'd missed that. She missed him when he was in another _room_, despite how she hated him, despite how much loving him had cost her.

"Anything more, dearie?"

"No. I don't think so." She looked up at him, and smiled, a potentially terrible idea rushing into her head, "Can I have one thing, though?"

"What?"

"Hug me?" she held her hands out, over her blanket, and loved the shock and near-horror on his face.

_Coward._

She was about to give up on him. But then, slowly, he rose to his feet and came over to her. He knelt at her feet, this great and unholy monster, and gently wrapped his arms around her.

She leaned forward, her hands sliding under his arms to hold his shoulders.

It was the most wonderful thing in the world: it was the first thing since she'd left her tower that made her bruises stop hurting, and the ache in her limbs recede.


End file.
